


Mysteries

by Chericola



Category: Charlie Bone Series | Children of the Red King - Jenny Nimmo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chericola/pseuds/Chericola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a sudden phone call from his son, Mr Singh returns to the Red King's city to investigate the mysterious activities going on there. And, to his surprise, he learns more than he expects to, of a dark evil that has been unleashed into the world, of hypnosis and treachery, and of the cruel attitudes of the Bloors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hundred Heads

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from chapters 10 and 11 of Charlie Bone and the Hidden King.

Mr Singh hadn't planned on attending the upcoming Hundred Heads' event in the Red King's ancient city, but events were brought to his attention that left him no other choice. He had been far too busy of late, preparing for the new boarders and teachers arriving at the Singh Academy, and generally preparing the school for the year ahead. That was the excuse he told himself, at least. In truth, he hated returning to that city—he could feel malignant presences hidden deep in stone and brick and earth, being fed by the horrendous acts the Bloors were committing, just waiting for someone to call them out of the darkness. It frightened him. How much more would it take for them to come alive?

He had attended the last Hundred Heads' Dinner, held ten years before, and had been dismayed by the changes in the city, how dangerous and corrupt the Bloors had become. It was obvious then to him that the Bloors had too much control in the city, and too much influence. They had begun to set in chain a train of despicable crimes that Mr Singh felt sick just thinking about. He could do nothing about it, of course, and nor could his son, PC Singh. All he could do was leave the city as soon as he could and hope he didn't have to return there again for a long time.

All week, he had warred with himself, wondering whether he should attend the Hundred Heads' event. A phone call from his son had decided him, in the end. It had come in the early evening, the night before the Hundred Heads' dinner was to take place. PC Singh was a policeman in the city, and always kept him up to date with what was going on there, even when he felt he didn't need to know. In other words, he was a spy. It was because of this that Mr Singh knew of Emma Tolly's abduction and rescue, Ollie Sparks' invisibility and other no-good things the Bloors had tried to do. That evening, he had received some terrible news, news that brought chills to his body.

'You must come to the city, Father,' PC Singh had urged. 'There is something terrible afoot. The animals are gone, all of them. I don't know why, but one night the earth shook and they just left, as if they were frightened of something. I believe they are responsible, somehow, but I can't get close to them to find out.' His voice shook, then. 'Something evil has come into the world; I can feel it. I think it would destroy us all if it has a chance to. You should come to the Hundred Heads' and investigate.'

This news was enough to alarm Mr Singh. An ancient evil, come into the world? Malignant enough to scare the animals of an entire city away? It was a terrifying thought. Who, or what, could have caused it? And how?

His son was right, Singh decided. He had to come to the city and discover what he could about this new evil, and how to foil it. This was more serious and life-threatening than anything the Bloors had done before. This could change the course of history on Earth, as well as many lives. Something had to be done about it. So he packed his bags and travelled the full six hours to the ancient city, the Red King's city, the city he had founded when he first build his magnificent Red Castle.

It was dawn when he left; by the time he spotted the walls of the city the sun had reached its full zenith in the sky. He felt no joy at entering the city—it was a place of evil, much changed from when the Red King ruled there. The Bloors had corrupted it, blackened its reputation. Well, not the Bloors specifically, but the descendants of the Red King who chose to use their powers in a way that dishonoured the memory of the great magician. It had begun with the Red King's five evil children, Borlath, Lilith, Olga, Cafal and Wyborn, and had continued through the generations. There didn't seem to be an end to the conflict, even after nine centuries. Mr Singh shuddered. It was one of the reasons why he hated returning to the city- he always had a feeling that something bad would happen while he was there.

The Red Castle was now a crumbling ruin in the grounds of Bloor's Academy, full of secrets and dangerous pathways. Mr Singh could see its large bulk as his car drew closer and closer to the Academy. There were rumours that the Red King himself resided there still, in the form of a tree. Singh hoped to find out the truth of that one day, but not now. Now he had only one aim: to find out exactly what was happening in the city and Bloor's Academy, and try to put a stop to it if he could.

The Academy hall was thronging with people—headmasters—when Mr Singh entered. Amid the loud chatter and chaos, he weaved through the crowds toward where the headmaster of Bloor's Academy, Dr Bloor, and his grandfather Ezekiel were standing (or in Ezekiel's case, sitting) and greeting the arriving heads. Mr Singh was surprised to find Ezekiel in a wheel-chair; he seemed a more shrunken and grumpy man than when they had last men ten years before. Dr Bloor seemed the same, with steely grey eyes and an upright, stiff posture and an expression that gave nothing away. In brief, they were still two people that Mr Singh would trust least in the world.

He couldn't help but glance curiously at Ezekiel, as he approached. Dr Bloor caught him looking and said, 'Accident,' in a flat voice that forbade any chance of asking more about it. The two headmasters shook hands, and Dr Bloor added, 'I must confess I didn't expect to see you here, Mr Singh. When you called me a week ago you gave me the impression that you had decided not to come.'

'I changed my mind,' Mr Singh said curtly, not liking the accusation in Bloor's eyes. 'I found I had some time to spare after all.'

'Well, we're glad you came, Singh,' Ezekiel said. 'We have something important to tell you all. Something has happened that will change everything for us.' His eyes danced with a crazed victory, fuelling Singh's curiosity. 'What do you think of that, eh? But no, I won't give anything away until the dinner tonight.' Grinning craftily, he spun his wheelchair and wheeled himself into the throng to greet another arriving headmaster, leaving Mr Singh with a feeling of unease.

He met Dr Bloor's eyes, and they were expressionless, with not a trace of warmth in them. They were not on easy speaking terms, himself and Harold Bloor. There was something about the man that always seemed to repel him. 'I'll see you at the dinner,' Dr Bloor said, before walking away after his grandfather.

oOoOo

The Hundred Heads' Dinner began at seven o'clock sharp, in the large richly decorated ballroom. As soon as Mr Singh and the numerous guests were settled at the tables lined in rows below the huge dais, Dr Bloor began to read out in his naturally imposing voice the names of the various academies attending the event. Loth, Oranga, Morvan, Derivere, Somphammer, Festyet, Ipakuk, Altabeeta… when Bloor read out Singh's name, Mr Singh could swear Dr Bloor's gaze rested on him for a moment. Did he suspect his true motivations for attending the Hundred Heads' event?

As Dr Bloor read out the last name on the list, waiters rolled trays to the tables and unveiled the first course of the evening: roast duck and curry soup. Murmurs of appreciation arose as the meal was served, but Singh just picked at his food, his stomach in knots. The endowed headmasters in the room seemed to like showing off their talents, much to the waiters' annoyance. Cutlery was turned gold, the roast duck on some plates was bewitched into a different food entirely, and champagne turned to wine in the crystal glasses. Singh saw one headmaster, Dr Oranga, vanish into thin air from where he sat on a table near the far left of the spacious room, and, directly beside him, a plump downright woman's straight dark hair was suddenly sparkling with all colours of the rainbow. The waiters left the room in a hurry, muttering to each other and sneaking sideways glances at the strangely assorted guests.

As knives sliced into meat, and forks were lifted to mouths, Dr Bloor began to speak. Cutlery, both enchanted and original, was dropped in a clatter as heads swivelled to listen.

'Those of you who were here ten years ago will remember my grandfather, Ezekiel Bloor, as an active and agile ninety-year-old,' Dr Bloor said grandly. 'Today, sadly, he is confined to a wheelchair. Lyell Bone is distantly related to us, so the crime was doubly shocking.'

There was a short silence as Dr Bloor cleared his throat and looked away. And then Mr Singh found himself speaking, driven by curiosity. 'Please,' he said boldly. 'Can you tell us how this crime was committed?'

Ezekiel's eyes blazed with fury, and he glared out into the audience. 'He knocked me down!' he shouted. 'Tried to kill me. Pushed me. Head hit stone. Bingo! Couldn't move. Done for. The SCOUNDREL!'

Some of the headmasters gasped. Mr Singh frowned.

'But why?' Madame Derivere said from somewhere far to Singh's left. 'Why did he do this terrible thing?'

Dr Bloor's face was impassive. 'Some of you will run your establishments in a different way from us. But all of you will be acting in the best interests of our wider family. Like you, we draw the Children of the Red King toward us. We offer them scholarships, first-class teaching, and equipment. We protect them, nurture them, prepare them for the difficulties they may face when they are adults… occasionally, it becomes necessary, for the child's own good you understand, to remove it from its parents.'

In the buzz that followed, Singh realised that Bloor had not answered Derivere's question. Very cunning, he thought. Bloor had successfully diverted the audience from thinking of the motivations behind this crime—if it was a crime. There was a peculiarly guarded look in Dr Bloor's eyes that suggested otherwise.

'Do you mean that you steal them?' an indignant voice said. Singh could not determine who it came from.

'He said 'remove',' Ezekiel screeched. 'Stealing doesn't come into it. For the greater good we must control these children, and if their parents seem likely to resist, then, yes, we must take them by any means.'

To Mr Singh's dismay, a murmur of agreement rose among the headmasters, and he could see a few nod their heads. But there were some who, like him, were frowning and shaking their heads at such barbaric behaviour. How could anyone think stealing children away from their parents was the right thing to do?

'However,' Ezekiel continued, 'in the case of a certain child who could fly'—Emma Tolly, Mr Singh thought—'her father was happy to hand her over. It was Lyell Bone who tried to prevent it by striking me to the ground. His protest was unsuccessful and he was duly punished.'

Singh could feel his eyes widen from where he sat, and he hoped the Bloors could not see his surprise. This he had not known. PC Singh had only told him the general facts of this tragic case; he had not realised that someone had tried to stop it from happening. He couldn't help but marvel at their audacity. The Bloors were so powerful that hardly anyone dared to cross them.

'And did the punishment fit the crime?' gruff Dr Loth said. He was a pompous man, by all accounts, and Singh had never liked him overly much. He tended to agree with the Bloors in most areas.

'Yes, Dr Loth. Thanks to my great-grandson, Manfred Bloor. Manfred, stand up!'

A chair scraped back, and Manfred Bloor stood from where he was positioned on the top table, between his father and great-grandfather Ezekiel. He bowed, his face screwed into a sneer, and sat back down again. There was something sinister about the boy that made Singh instantly dislike him. There was something about his eyes. They gazed at him, like black coals, drawing him, weakening his willpower. Singh quickly tore his eyes away from that terrible stare, before it consumed him.

'Manfred may be the greatest hypnotist that ever lived,' Ezekiel said proudly. How horrifying! Mr Singh thought. He couldn't imagine a worse thing than a hypnotist, who could control a person like it could a puppet. 'At only nine years of age, he erased Lyell Bone's memory with a single glance. The man is now helpless. He doesn't even know who he is.'

A chill ran down Singh's spine, and he just managed to suppress a shudder. Truly, it was a terrible thing, no matter what the man was said to have done. How could one countenance it? Because of one action, a man had lost his memories, his identity, and his entire self. Perhaps he had even had a family that he loved, that he would never see again. It was horrifying to behold such absolute cruelty from a fellow headmaster and his family.

A tense silence descended onto the room as the rest of the guests digested this horrifying news. Ezekiel began to chortle, his head thrown back, and it grated on Singh's ears to hear it. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears, do anything to make it stop. How could the old man be so vindictive, so pleased with himself? Yes, this man had crippled him, but it was not enough to warrant this.

Dr Bloor continued, 'Manfred also put the baby under. She was two at the time. It lasted until she was ten and then Lyell Bone's confounded son woke her up.' Singh heard the bitterness and frustration in his voice, and felt secretly pleased.

There was a mutter of surprise. 'Who?' 'How was this done?' 'Could it be…'

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Dr Bloor boomed, 'do not be concerned. The girl is still here, and so is Lyell's son, Charlie. These endowed children stick together like glue. Charlie is a picture traveller, a priceless gift, as you well know.' Singh did know. The Red King's youngest child, Amoret, had had a similar gift. It was said that she could visit her loved ones by way of a mirror, called the Mirror of Amoret.

'He has proved difficult, as he is his father's son, but he is well guarded. These charming ladies on my right are his grandmother, Grizelda Bone, and his three great-aunts, Lucretia, Eustacia and Venetia Yewbeam. They keep an eye on Charlie Bone…'

'And one day,' Ezekiel broke in, 'Charlie will take me with him, into the past, where I can… rearrange history.' There was a manic, wild glint in his eyes as he began to cackle again. Mr Singh looked down at the untouched duck on his plate to hide the disgust and scorn that must surely be clear in his eyes. The very idea that Ezekiel could change history was ridiculous. No one could change history. And why would this boy, Charlie Bone, choose to help the man who stole his father from him? It would be like choosing to help the devil. Ezekiel must be truly demented, Singh thought, to even think of such a thing.

To his immense disgust, he heard Dr Loth shout, 'Bravo!' He felt even more disgusted to hear several other headmasters take up the call. But thankfully there were some, like him, who remained silent. At least there were some who were not wholly taken in by the Bloors' speeches.

Suddenly, he heard a faint noise come from underneath the table, very close to him. It sounded almost as if someone had sneezed. But how could that be? Almost instinctively, he lifted the table cloth to find two boys hiding beneath it. One of them was white-haired and wearing glasses and seemed to be half-asleep, while the other had unruly dark hair and was quite alert and sitting up. The boy stared at Mr Singh, eyes wide and terrified.

Mr Singh didn't know what to do, so he waited for the boy to say something. After a tense moment, the boy put his finger to his lips. Mr Singh smiled. The boys were obviously there without permission, having wanted to see such a grand event up close. He hated to get them in trouble; they were only boys, and this was probably just some mischief that they decided to get up to because they were bored. Discreetly he let the cloth drop back into place, and concentrated on the remainder of the dinner.

oOoOo

It was soon after that Dr Bloor finally began to talk of the 'momentous development' that he had hinted at earlier. He stood up from his place at the top table and clasped his hands behind his back, managing to look imposing and inviting all at once. His voice held a barely suppressed excitement. 'First, I must give you a brief history of someone whom even I had never heard of, until last week. Count Harken Badlock.'

Singh frowned. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't think of where he had heard it before. He focused his attention on the torrent of information Bloor was providing.

Count Harken was eighteen years old when he arrived in Spain. He began to court the beautiful Berenice, daughter of a knight of a knight of Toledo and future wife of the Red King. The young count was a sorcerer and very soon Berenice fell under his spell. They were to be married, but there was a duel between the enchanter and the Red King and Count Harken lost. After Queen Berenice died after giving birth to her tenth child, Amoret, Count Harken arrived to take care of them and married the king's eldest daughter, Lilith. He taught the children how to look after themselves and guarded them against the dangers of the world.

Singh's spine tingled. Wrong, a tiny voice inside him said. It was all wrong. It didn't happen like that at all. Count Harken was not the kindly benefactor the Bloors were making him out to be. Singh finally remembered that name, that infamous historical figure. He had heard of him many years ago, from a student at his academy who happened to be descended from Lilith, and happened to know a great deal about the man she married. 'He was a terrible man,' she had said. 'A very powerful enchanter, and with no heart to boot. You wouldn't want to make an enemy of him.' Harken tore the Red King's family apart and began the conflict that still continued even now between the descendants of the Red King. He was not a man Singh would like to meet.

'How has all this suddenly come to light, Dr Bloor?' someone asked eagerly.

There was a heavy silence, and then Dr Bloor leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. 'Because I have heard it from the Count himself.'

The headmasters gasped, Singh as well. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could an enchanter that existed centuries ago be with them in the present time?

'I know it's hard to believe that a man who lived nine hundred years ago is with us again. But it's the truth. I am utterly convinced of it.' Dr Bloor smiled, pleased by the shock his words had produced.

'He was a mere shadow in the Red King's portrait, but someone let him out,' Ezekiel cried amid a clamour of protests and queries. Ezekiel's words caused even more of an uproar.

'Who let him out?' 'Where is he now?' The two questions made themselves heard above the din.

Dr Bloor begged for silence and said, 'Where is he? He is safe. He has acclimated to this century in the most remarkable way. It took him ten minutes to learn our language and once that was accomplished he was able to acquaint himself with our politics, our finances, our mode of dress, our habits, in short…'

'But then he is an enchanter,' Ezekiel put in.

'Indeed, yes. Unfortunately, he had to be a little ruthless when it came to finding a home and an income, but these things cannot always be avoided.' He laughed, seeming uncomfortable.

Singh shivered. He didn't like the sound of 'ruthless'. People had different interpretations of the word. What had the count done? Surely he hadn't killed anyone! Singh prayed he hadn't. But why would such a man stop and listen to his conscience in such a matter? He probably didn't even have a conscience. From what Singh had learnt about him, he sounded like a heartless, dark man bent on death and destruction. He had certainly caused his fair share of problems nine hundred years ago.

'At this point,' Dr Bloor added rather hurriedly, 'I must ask you, dear guests, not to repeat a word of what I have told you outside this building. We are used to keeping secrets, are we not? We have to, or the world would turn against us.'

There was a rumble of agreement, and then Dr Loth called out, 'Who is it? Who let the Shadow out, and how?'

There was a pause, and Dr Bloor said, 'The count is not sure. He claims it was done with a mirror; some call it the Mirror of Amoret. We found him in the hall, during a snowstorm. The person who released him had slipped away.' He frowned.

'We thought it was Venetia here,' Ezekiel said. 'She's the cleverest of us. The wickedest.' He chuckled, gesturing to the dark-haired woman sitting beside him on the platform, who glared murderously at him. She was obviously very put out at not having been able to release this count, Singh thought with amusement. Singh could see that she loved to be in the limelight and hated when another person stole it from her.

'Well, it wasn't,' Venetia said sullenly.

'So you see…' Dr Bloor began to speak, but a voice in the crowd interrupted him. A very light, musical, feminine voice.

'It was me. I did it.'

Singh had the satisfaction of seeing Dr Bloor's eyes nearly pop out of his head. 'You?' Bloor gasped, staring wide-eyed into the audience.

'Yes, me,' the unknown woman said. 'I found the Mirror of Amoret.'

She came towards the platform, in a stately, proud fashion, holding her head high. She never took her eyes from Dr Bloor. As she reached the platform, Dr Bloor said at last, 'Miss Chrystal, please step up and tell us how all this came about.'

'Thank you.' Miss Chrystal mounted the platform, her high heels clunking lightly on the steps, and faced the expectant people sitting below her.

Mr Singh prepared to listen to another fascinating revelation. He leaned forward, his gaze intent on the female newcomer. She seemed the most unlikely person to wake an ancient enchanter. She was slight, and extremely attractive, with long blonde hair that was pulled back into a smart bun, and delicate, open features that made her seem almost approachable. But her eyes were like ice, hard and cold, and when she spoke, there was a brittle hardness in her voice. She smoothed down the skirt of her brightly printed floral dress, looked out at her rapt audience, and began to speak.

Her story began fourteen years into the past. Miss Chrystal had been in love, and thought the man she loved returned her feelings. But he spurned her and married another, leaving Miss Chrystal dejected and heartbroken. 'My heart was broken. I thought I would die,' she said dramatically. Eventually, she married a man named Matthew Tilpin, and they had a son, Joshua. However, they soon found that Joshua was gifted with magnetism, and the man left them, afraid of the power Joshua was beginning to have over him. He said that if he stayed, one day the baby would make him do something terrible. Already he could feel the baby bending him to his will.

Last Christmas, Miss Chrystal's great-uncle died, leaving her a chest full of papers. She searched through the mass, and discovered that she was descended from the Red King's eldest daughter, Lilith, and her husband, Count Harken Badlock. There was a collective gasp at this from the headmasters, but the woman continued without pause. Among the papers she also found a map, in perfect condition, telling her where to find the Mirror of Amoret, the mirror that would bring Count Harken back into the world. 'I merely had to hold it before the Red King's portrait, so that reflected light fell over the shadow behind him and…' Miss Chrystal paused. 'And so I did—and it worked. The count is back!' Her eyes shone in her flushed face, and her voice crackled with excitement.

The Bloors quickly brought her a chair and a glass of water, but Miss Chrystal ignored them and continued to face her audience. 'I have something more to say,' she announced, her voice ringing. 'My son, Joshua, is very powerful. Like Charlie Bone, he has the blood of two magicians running in his veins.' She smiled thinly. 'If Charlie is to be controlled, then Joshua can do it. As for the matter of Charlie's father, the count will make sure he never wakes.' She gave a brittle laugh, her eyes flashing with something akin to satisfaction. 'Oh, yes, the count will make sure Lyell Bone is lost, lost, lost forever.'

There was a prickling at the back of his neck, and in the silence that followed Miss Chrystal's words Singh found himself saying, 'Miss Chrystal, I would like to ask you a question. Will you tell us the name of the man who rejected you?'

Even before she opened her mouth to reply, he knew the answer. It was in the bitterness in her voice and the spite in her eyes when she spoke of this lost man, Lyell Bone. She turned her cold eyes on him, as if she couldn't believe he had to ask. 'Who do you think? It was Lyell Bone.' And he suppressed a shiver at the hatred in her voice, and felt pity for Lyell Bone. Ms Chrystal didn't seem like a woman who let anything get in the way of revenge.

There was no more talking that night. Stunned by the revelations, the headmasters turned their attention to eating. Forks and knives could be heard scraping across plates; food was hastily chewed and swallowed. Mr Singh's mind whirled with all that he had learnt. A man had been hypnotised long ago, and was now lost to his wife and son. A woman was striving to do all that she could to make sure he did not wake up, and all because he spurned her advances and married another. An evil enchanter had been brought into the world, the Red King's old nemesis, Count Harken, and he would try to take over the city again, as he had tried to do long ago, and make sure Lyell Bone never woke up from his trance. The city was certainly sinking deep in trouble.

Mr Singh wanted to help the inhabitants of the Red King's city, but he didn't know how.


	2. Surprising Discoveries

It was not until early the next morning that Singh had a chance to explore the castle and investigate this new problem without fear of discovery. The Bloors and the other headmasters, drunk with wine and good food, would sleep uninterrupted well into the morning, and so there was no one else awake as Singh climbed out of his bed in the pre-dawn light and walked quietly out of the spacious guest bedchamber he had been given, closing the door gently behind him.

It was eerily silent inside the large building; the only noises to be heard were the occasional snores of sleeping headmasters and Singh's light, slightly echoing footsteps as he paced through the endless corridors of Bloor's Academy. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't hide the sound of his footsteps entirely; he had never been practiced in such skills, a thought which had never bothered him until now. It couldn't be helped, he knew. He would just have to hope the Bloors did not wake soon and realise that he was not in his bedchamber.

Where could he explore first? Where would be the most likely place to start his search for answers? The Red Castle, perhaps, Singh thought. It was, after all, where Miss Chrystal claimed to have found the Mirror of Amoret, and it was the Red King's ancient home. But when Singh came face to face with the door to the Academy grounds, he found it locked fast. No matter how much he wrenched the knob and shoved at the door, it wouldn't open. He didn't dare run at the door in case someone awoke and heard him. Of course the Bloors would lock all the doors during the night, Singh thought with some frustration. It was only logical, but it hindered his exploratory mission.

Feeling somewhat annoyed, he traced his steps back to the hall, where he sat none-too-gently onto the first step of the grand staircase. What could he do now? He didn't want to return to his bedchamber yet, not when he had gained no further insight into the strange goings-on his son had described. But he had no idea where else he could look. So he glanced despondently around the area, trying to think of another place inside the building that would be worth investigating.

It was then that he noticed the small door that led to the Bloors' ballroom. It was slightly ajar, which surprised Singh, for it had been locked the night before, and why would the Bloors leave it open? As he gazed at it, he thought he saw a flash of orange move beyond the door. It was so quick that he almost thought he had imagined it, until a deeper reddish hue and the light patter of footsteps—animal footsteps, it sounded like—caught his attention. Instantly he leapt to his feet, his mind whirring, and crept toward the door, listening intently.

Singh thought he could hear something, almost like a purr, coming from behind that door. As he came closer, he was sure of it. The purr deepened and increased, almost as if it were encouraging him. Singh reached the door, and peeked discreetly into the hallway beyond it. He couldn't help but be impressed. It was truly glamorous, with thick carpeting and a ceiling strung with sparkling stars. At the end of the hallway, he could see the gleaming arched doors to the grand ballroom, where the upcoming Grand Ball would be held. They would remain locked until that evening, when the guests began to arrive.

Apart from the ballroom door, there didn't seem to be anything else of interest, and so Singh turned away. And then came an impatient yowl. He jerked his head back, surprised. It sounded as if it had come from a cat! All at once curiosity rose in him, and he pushed the obscure door wide open, and stepped into the carpeted hallway.

Immediately, his gaze was riveted on the cat which sat at the foot of a winded staircase that stood just inside the hallway. It was like a flame, an amber flame that radiated warmth and comfort. Singh could feel the warmth envelop him from where he stood, and marvelled at it. The cat fixed large golden eyes on him, and mewed once at him, almost sounding exasperated. It was, Singh thought with amazement, almost as if it were telling him, 'Took you long enough.'

The cat turned and quickly darted up the winded staircase, pausing just once to look pointedly back at the confused man. Singh frowned. 'You want me to follow, fair creature?' he said. The cat gave what he thought was a nod, and scampered out of sight. Singh realised he had no choice but to follow, and began to ascend as well. There were four flights of stairs, and at each landing the cat patiently waited for Singh as he climbed up, before darting away again.

At the very top of the stairs, there was another door. It was closed, but the cat reached up on its hind legs and batted at the doorknob, managing to turn it enough for the door to open. It slipped through without a sound, and looked as if it expected Singh to follow. Singh hesitated for a moment. What was he doing, following a cat into a dusty, seemingly disused tower? Common sense told him that he should have returned to his bedchamber after entering the hall. It would have been the wisest course, he supposed. He didn't even know if he could trust this cat.

There was something inside him, however, that told him that this cat would not harm him, that it was a friend. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Almost instinctively, he knew that he needed to follow this strange cat to wherever it was going.

He heard a complaining yowl, and a bronze head poked out of the doorway, eyes staring at him as if to say, 'Hurry up.'

Singh sighed. 'Alright, good cat. I am coming.' He pushed open the door, and the cat disappeared from view.

Singh stepped into a round, sparsely furnished room filled with dust and cobwebs. Sheets of paper littered the floorboards- music sheets, Singh realised with clarity, bending down briefly as the faded notes on a crumpled page caught his eye. Rachmaninov. 'A stalwart composer,' he mused. He read the title of the piece. 'Isle of the Dead.' He shivered. It seemed a strange composition to play in what was clearly a music lesson room of some kind. He would have thought that its theme would be considered far too serious for a young music student.

Gradually his eyes were drawn to the grand piano that stood in the centre of the small room. There was a man slumped on the stool before it, his head resting on the black and white piano keys. He appeared to be asleep. A cat stood on the stool, nudging the man's cheek and purring anxiously. It had an amazing colour that Singh couldn't tear his eyes from, almost like a burning crimson flame. How beautiful, Singh thought in wonder.

There was another yowl, more impatient this time, followed by another. Singh turned toward the sound. Two cats gazed back at him with golden eyes, unfathomable and wild. One of an orange hue sat proudly on the windowsill, and Singh recognised it as the one who had led him to this room. Another, of a yellow colour, was placed at the foot of the piano stool, silent and still, with what Singh thought was a grave expression in its eyes. Singh blinked, and almost rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't mistaken. For how could cats display a human emotion such as that?

The cat looked at him then, and purred in welcome. This was echoed by the cat on the piano stool, albeit in a more hurried tone. Singh gazed at them both as the realisation struck him. Briefly he recalled the tomes he had read long ago, the information that had been absorbed into his mind like a sponge. The Red King came from Africa accompanied by three loyal leopards... immortal, gifted with magical powers beyond those of normal leopards... they can still be seen in parts of the country, protecting the descendants of the Red King's five good children...

Singh wanted to hit himself at his slowness. It was clear who they were, so painfully clear. How could he have not seen it before?

They were the Red King's leopards.

Well, they were now cats, of course, but still powerful and with centuries of knowledge in their golden eyes, experiences that Singh could only dream of. Feeling slightly foolish, he bowed low to them. 'Fair cats, I did not recognise you at first,' he said. 'But now I see. How can you be anything else but the Red King's leopards?'

The cats purred in agreement. The orange cat gazed at him with bright eyes, and Singh thought he saw pleasure in its features at his comprehension.

'Well then,' he said, returning its gaze. 'You have brought me here for a reason, I can see. What can I do?'

In answer, the cat leapt from the windowsill and crossed the floor toward the young pianist, mewing softly. Singh followed it, stepping gingerly over the crumpled music sheets. The cat trotted underneath the piano stool and rubbed itself against the man's legs, while the red cat continued to nuzzle the man's down-turned face with deep purrs. The man never even stirred, much to Singh's surprise.

He looked helplessly at them. What on earth did they expect him to do? Call for help?

'What do you want from me?' he demanded.

Three pairs of eyes riveted on him, and he shivered under the force of their stare. One growled, and Singh thought he could hear what it was trying to say. Help him.

'But how?' Singh said desperately.

More growling. Remember. Go to ball. Meet the Shadow.

'But why?' Now he was truly baffled.

Again golden eyes bore into him, urgent and insistent. You have a gift,Singh thought he heard in midst of the yowling.

Singh swallowed. It was true that he had some gifts, but they were minor, and had never been much use to him. Yes, he could detect a lie, and see through illusions and enchantments that were cast. At times he could even hear a person's thoughts, if he concentrated closely enough. But it had never been particularly helpful to anyone but himself. He didn't see how any gift of his could be of use now.

'Forgive me,' he said, 'but my endowment is weak, useless. It can surely do nothing here. I don't believe I can help you.'

The cats voiced their disagreement by growling at him. You can, you can.

Help, the orange cat thought. Help us.

They gazed at him with urgent eyes, almost pleading. Behind them he could see the piano man, still as a stone, seeming almost dead in his paleness.

Singh found himself nodding, even as his heart lurched within him. They had him trapped. How could he refuse to help when a man's life was at stake?

'Fine,' he said. 'I will help.'

The cats purred their approval.

oOoOo

It was almost eight o'clock when Singh returned to the hall. As he entered the landing he could hear the Academy coming to life above him, as staff began to awaken and footsteps could be heard walking along corridors. He managed to reach his bedchamber without being waylaid or spotted, much to his relief, and he fell into his bed with a sigh.

He felt more exhausted than he had expected, but he couldn't sleep, not now. Too much information coursed through his brain. The cats had told him much, in their own way. He couldn't understand them as a person gifted with animal-speak could, but they made themselves reasonably understood through a combination of thoughts and animal noises. They had spoken of the shadow, the enchanter Harken, whose destructive presence threatened the Red King's city. They had told him to go to the Grand Ball that was to take place that evening, which they seemed certain Harken would be attending. They had not said why or how they knew, just that they wanted him to go there and investigate as he had planned to do. And something else. Singh held up his hand, felt the round curve of the ring buried in his palm. A most strange ring- it was slender and plain, but its pendant shifted colour as if it were alive and breathing. When Singh peeked at it he could almost see a face in its shiny jewel.

It had been difficult to find, even with the map the cats had shown him. He had wandered for half an hour, staring wide-eyed with wonder at the crumbling statues and fountains, imagining the splendid castle garden it must once have been. It was truly magnificent, and very large. If he had not had a map, he would surely have been lost. In a darker part of the ruin, he had found what he was looking for, trapped neatly in a little crevice in the wall. At first, it seemed like there was nothing there, but then the crevice shimmered and he knew it for what it was: an elaborate illusion, perhaps cunningly conjured by the Princess Guanhamara herself as she fled the castle and Harken's influence. For nine centuries, it had stayed there, unseen and protected by clever magic. Until now. Singh had taken it from its hiding place and hid it in the palm of his hand, as the Flames had instructed, and had hurried back to the grey building that was the Academy.

He gazed at it for a second more, and clenched his fingers around it again. It was a priceless ring, clearly magical and once owned of the Red King. Why else would it have been stuck in a crevice in the Red King's own castle? For so many years it had been safely hidden, but the emergence of the Red King's old nemesis had endangered its hiding place. The enchanter Harken would certainly crave a ring such as this which once belonged to the magician king and held some sort of unique magic. Singh shuddered to think of such a man in possession of a potentially powerful ring such as this.

The cats had been right to be alarmed. If Singh had not found the ring, the enchanter would have eventually, and would have either destroyed it or sought to use it for his own evil purposes. It would have made him even more powerful than he was already. But it was Singh who had found the ring, because the cats had asked him to. He marvelled at their foresight and intelligence. How was it that cats such as these had minds as sharp as those of humans?

A tentative knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. Clenching the ring in one hand, he hauled himself across the floor and answered the door, wishing fervently that he wouldn't be interrupted. A young woman smiled at him brightly, her dark hair scraped back into a bun and her lips painted a crimson red, the colour of her skimpy dress. A name tag on her bosom read ABBIE.

'Good morning, Sir!' she said cheerfully. 'I hope you slept well. Breakfast is at nine o'clock sharp, in the dining hall. See you there!'

Before Singh could thank her, she was gone, practically running toward the next door. Singh sensed that this wasn't a pleasant task, to be so close to the strange headmasters with the freakish endowments. He had to be impressed at her competent facade, even as he pitied her. The other headmasters were not likely to be as discreet as he was.

He glanced at the gilded clock on the far side of the room. It was half-past eight, he saw. Almost breakfast time. The other headmasters and the Bloors would be awake by now, as well. Singh couldn't suppress a slight shiver at the thought of that dreadful family discovering his early morning adventure. It would be the end of him, for sure.

Placing the ring in a deep pocket in his gown, he walked out of the chamber, appearing more confident than he felt.

oOoOo

Breakfast was an uncomfortable affair. Singh chewed at his food tensely, feeling the magical ring heavy in his pocket. He felt the Bloors watching him with wariness, and feared that they suspected him. At one point he dared look at them, and saw the cold gaze Dr Bloor directed at him, his eyes saying, 'Try anything and we will punish you.' Singh had a very good idea how they would go about it- maybe they would contrive a traffic accident to cause his death, or hypnotise him into forgetting who he was. Whatever it was, Singh hoped that he had not given them any reason to think him a threat. If they did, they would not hesitate to strike.

Meetings were to take place all over the Academy, after breakfast. Headmasters could be seen chatting easily with each other in the hall, even as they flaunted their supernatural gifts. As Singh weaved his way through the crowds he noticed Dr Oranga shift into the form of a phoenix, floating majestically beneath the rafters, while the shimmering image of a rainbow circled him.

He stepped forward, and came face-to-face with the boys from under the table. The dark-haired boy blinked at him, his brown eyes startled.

'Aha, we meet again,' Singh said, smiling broadly. He put a finger to his lips and winked at him. 'Good luck!' He would certainly need it.

Outside, it was less crowded, and much less noisy. Singh breathed in the fresh January air with relief; he had felt stifled in the building, more so than he had thought. From here he could see the ruins of the Red Castle, the ruins he had spent the pre-dawn morning exploring. Its crumbling, red-tinged walls and towers were a majestic contrast to the darkness of Bloor's Academy, and he couldn't help but make comparisons.

'Monsieur Singh!' a familiar voice sounded from behind him. He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder in greeting, and spun around, with no doubt of who the hand belonged to. He would recognise her voice anywhere.

Dark eyes met his own, within a pale face framed with dark-brown hair that was pulled into a tight bun. Her every feature radiated warmth and kindness, from her merry eyes to her wide, generous mouth. Though she was now approaching her fifties, her proud posture was the same as it had been ten years before, when they had last met, and her body had not lost any measure of its strength. Clearly, she was still a force to be reckoned with, Singh thought, despite the grey dots in her hair and subtle wrinkles underneath her eyes.

'Madame Derivere,' he greeted her, stooping to kiss her cheek. 'It is good to see you.'

'And you,' she said. 'I had not thought to see you here; I thought you had sworn never to come here again.'

'I changed my mind,' Singh said. 'I found that I had to come after all.' And, lowering his voice, he told her of his son's phone call, and the animals' disappearance. The ring, he kept to himself, as he did the results of his early-morning exploration. That was between himself and the Flames, and he knew in his heart that it should stay that way.

Madame Derivere gasped, and clutched at the skirt of her navy-blue dress. 'Quelle horreur!'

'I am certain now that the enchanter has caused the exodus,' Singh said. 'How, I do not know.'

Madame Derivere frowned, deep in thought. 'The Bloors claimed that the enchanter was good, and only sought to protect the Red King's children. I have never heard of this Count Harken Badlock before, but if he is with the Bloors he does not have peaceful intentions. I would not trust them with my life, or that of my children or grandchildren.' She shuddered. 'I still recall the last gathering, you know. Dorothy was still here, of course; I saw her, and spoke to her when we had a moment to ourselves. She seemed so sad, and bitter, and lonely. So different from the Dorothy I always knew. It made me hate them all the more so, for changing her like that.'

'And how is Dorothy?' Singh asked gently.

Madame Derivere sighed. 'Safe, and much happier than when she was with Harold. I helped her settle into an apartment in Paris, where she teaches violin. She writes to me, every so often, and I try to visit her when I can. But it is a long way from Bordeaux to Paris and I seldom have time to be away from my school.' She smiled sadly. 'Dorothy is very well, but she will never be the same as she was before she married Harold. I am only glad that she managed to escape that family and the half-life she had been living for so long.'

'So am I,' Singh said sincerely. He had not known Dorothy Bloor well, but he had met her once, during the last Hundred Heads' gathering. She had been kind, and a good hostess, sociable and generous with her attention in a way her husband hadn't been. Singh had liked her, though he hadn't expected himself to. In his opinion, no person in their right mind would choose to join that family unless they were dark-hearted like the Bloors. Dorothy had been different. Singh had come to respect her in his own way, and had been grieved to hear of her misfortune and her crushed hand.

'Monsieur Singh,' Derivere said slowly. 'I am breaking a confidence here, but I feel I must speak.'

The back of Singh's neck prickled, and he stared at Madame Derivere.

'Shortly after she came to Paris, Dorothy wrote to me, asking me to visit her. She said it was urgent, that there was something she had to tell me. So I drove all the way to Paris, intending to stay the weekend with her.' She paused, and Singh saw turmoil in her eyes.

'Go on,' he said gently. 'What did she say?'

Derivere swallowed, and continued. 'She said that she had to speak to me, for her peace of mind. Her husband had done something terrible once, and she had stood by and done nothing. It ate at her, this guilt, and she had to speak to someone about it before it consumed her. That is what she told me.'

There was more silence. This time Singh waited for her to speak again, knowing that when she was ready she would continue.

'Dorothy told me that she had been privy to a plot to abduct a baby girl, Emma Tolly. And that on the day the girl was to be handed over, in the cathedral square, she was there. She saw everything. The organist... Lyell Bone... tried to stop it, but Ezekiel struck him. It was not as Ezekiel said,' Derivere said, looking at Singh with remembered horror in her eyes. 'The organist struck back, out of retaliation. And Manfred... hypnotised him, and the little girl too, made him return to his house without any recollection of who he was and later crash his car into a quarry.'

A strangled sound came from Singh's throat. There were no words for this. He could only stare at Derivere with wide eyes and listen.

'Dorothy was horrified,' Derivere went on. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were imagining herself someplace else. 'They did not tell her of the crash until afterwards, when it was too late to do anything. They knew she wouldn't have condoned it. Afterwards they brought the man to Bloor's Academy, and gave him a job and a new identity. They imprisoned him in the music tower...'

The music tower... An image came to his head, of the man he had seen there, slumped over the piano, with the three extraordinary cats by his side. Could it be...

'Dorothy wanted to speak out, but was afraid. They had threatened her, you see.' Derivere shook her head, her eyes saddened. 'I almost could not believe it when she told me, but it is the truth. Last night when I heard Ezekiel speak of it, I knew him to be lying, or at least not telling the entire story. That poor man...'

Singh's head was whirring. He shook his head, trying to organise his thoughts. 'So the man I saw in the tower is the organist, Lyell Bone,' he said, hardly able to believe his own words. Seeing Derivere's questioning gaze, he explained his exploratory mission and the discovery of the man in the tower, and the Flame cats who were once the Red King's leopards. 'They seemed to be consoling him, trying to give him strength. I had thought he was simply asleep, but it seems I was wrong.' He suppressed a shudder at the memory.

Madame Derivere clapped a hand over her mouth, seeming distraught. 'Mon Dieu,' she said in hardly more than a whisper. 'How horrible. And you say that these cats want you to be at the ball, to help that man?'

Singh nodded. 'I believe so. But I do not know how. They wanted me to meet the enchanter Harken, but they did not say why.'

He saw a determined expression come over Derivere's face. Her eyes like steel, she spoke. 'Then you must meet him. You will know why when the time comes, Monsieur Singh. And I will come with you. I would like to meet such a man myself, to see what he is made of.'

Singh gave an ironic laugh. 'Madame Derivere, listen to me when I tell you that you would not like to meet a man like the enchanter Harken.'

'Even so, I will come with you.'

And Singh felt relief at her decision, for he had been a trifle afraid to meet such a powerful, heartless enchanter by himself, weakly endowed as he was. Madame Derivere was doubly endowed, and more equipped than he to stand up against a possible attack. It stood to reason that she accompany him. But even as he agreed with her, he couldn't help but be apprehensive.


End file.
